A Life Cut Short
by ClairabellaCullen
Summary: What happens to Edward at the end of his human life, and up until he meets Bella on that eventful day in Forks. Includes the treaty, meeting Rosalie, discovering 'gift', rebellious days, and more. Please read, I am actually quite proud. EPOV mainly.
1. Thanksgiving Morning

Disclaimer: Edward, Carlisle, Bella, Alice, and the rest of the gang are creations of the lovely Stephenie Meyer, but I do love them as if they were my own. Obviously, I do not own Twilight, but if I did, I would so finish Midnight Sun!

A/N: Hey guys, this is Clairabella and this is one of my first fanfics, so be kind. If you read please, pretty please, review! It will make my day (and encourage faster updates)! If there are any typos, I apologize in advance (No beta). I plan to keep this story mainly Edward POV, but I will probably do a little in Carlisle's point of view, and maybe Elizabeth's, and perhaps since my story encompasses Edward's life from age seventeen to that fateful day in Forks, maybe Rosalie's, or other characters'. I guess we'll see. I'd also like to say that I originally was going to make the first chapter his birthday, but upon further research found that he was born in June. So… it is now Thanksgiving. Enjoy… (And I swear, not every chapter will have this long of an author's note.) Without further ado, I present to you…ba ba ba bum… A Life Cut Short!

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Edward's Point of View

That morning, I awoke with a start. Today was the day, Thanksgiving. The annual ball downtown at the Gold Dome. After a quick internal struggle debating whether or not to get up now, I collapsed back into the bed. No need to begin right now. Might as well soak up the last few minutes of sleep, before being bribed once again to attend the ball.

About ten minutes later, my mother's high voice then drifted upstairs, and so I pried myself out of the bed. I ran to my third story window to stare at downtown Chicago. It was lovely this time of year, the streets dusted with the season's first light snow. Chicago's tail-end of November.

I dressed quickly. A dark green sweater with black slacks, shoes, and a belt. Then I jogged down the stairs of our townhouse to give my mother a quick peck on the cheek. Before I was able to do this though, she shouted "Happy Thanksgiving, Edward!" at the top of her lungs. In the kitchen, Mother had a hot breakfast of pancakes made. By no exaggeration, it smelled like ambrosia. I grabbed a plate and served myself.

Mother ran to me at the table and wrapped me in a warm embrace. This was just one of the many things I adored about Elizabeth Mason. Her smell, warm and sweet, as a rose, smothered me in love.

I laughed. "Thank you so much!" She messed with my already messy reddish-brown hair. I loved in her eyes, same color as my own there and saw a love as strong as any. I took a bite of the spongy pancake and found a kind of nirvana there. My mother was a natural cook.

"These are delectable! Mother, sit down and enjoy them with me," I encouraged.

"Oh, no," she replied. "I must go do the dishes." And with that, she made her way to the kitchen sink.

It was the weekend and a holiday at that, and so our maid was off, so she went to the kitchen. I got up, walked right past her, and began washing them myself, with the crooked smile I knew she loved plastered across my features. She walked up to where I was by the sink and hugged me again from the back, her forehead only reaching to the middle of my neck.

"Goodness, Edward, how tall are you now, anyway?" she asked.

"Six-two," I replied with a heavy smirk. At that precise moment my father strolled in the front door, he himself beaming with roses in hand.

"Edward!" my mother exclaimed, and we both ran to greet Edward senior.

"You weren't supposed to be home until tomorrow," she pretended to chide.

"I know," he replied, smile still on his face. His face read of some kind of mischief. "I wanted to surprise you both. Happy Thanksgiving to all!" He embraced the both of us and we began to walk toward the kitchen, until my mother's slight body jumped right in our path.

My mother decided to continue her little charade. "You really should have telegraphed us, notified us in some way! There simply isn't enough food, and Lord knows I was scared to death! It could have been a stranger coming through the door!" she continued to scold, her smile starting to take root around her forced frown.

My father looked at her lovingly and handed her the flowers.

She took them and strutted past us into the kitchen, still pouting. My father snuck up behind her and picked her up into his arms, and began tickling her. She squirmed away, and he chased her down the hall, finally catching her to lift her and tickle her again.

"Put me down!" she squealed in between cohorts of laughter. "Edward, tell your father to stop!" she giggled. "I must put these flowers in some water!" she tried. He finally put her down and she was smiling up a storm, her face alighted like a teenage girl's. My parents were very much in love, and it was very evident.

We finally all made it to the kitchen, all of us smiling like buffoons, and my mother put the roses in an elegant vase. I glanced at my father from across the table. We looked very similar. In fact, in another 20 years, I figured that I would probably look just like him. Broad shoulders, tall and wiry, reddish-brown hair. The only difference was the eyes. Where his were a hazel, mistakably golden, mine were a bright emerald green, a trait inherited from my mother.

I finished the dishes, and we all sat down as a family to finish eating the pancakes my father smothering his in syrup, and my mother and I preferring a blueberry sauce. We talked about high school, the upcoming Christmas, and then I could read my parents face. We were definitely moving on to a different subject, and they acted slightly nervous, yet in my mother's eyes I could see excitement.

My father looked me straight in the eyes and at that exact moment I knew something unpleasant was about to follow. My guess? Marriage.

"Edward," he began. "You are seventeen."

"So I am," I replied.

"You are a man," he continued. "And with becoming a man comes the need for a woman. You need to start looking for someone that you want to spend the rest of your life with. Tonight, there is a dance, as you know, downtown at the Gold Dome. We were hoping we could introduce you to a couple of really special women." Yep, marriage.

Find a wife? The prospect excited me, but really, I had found no interest in anyone around here. None were my type. Would I find the woman of my dreams tonight? Would she love me back? What would I say? Would she share my ideals and dreams for the future? Would she be a good mother to my children?

And then, a thought hit me like a fast train, except with no telltale whistles before. The war in Europe was going on. In about six months, I could be drafted. And here's the thing, the war was a chance to make something of myself, to see the world. A chance at glory, I suppose. However, I could imagine without much difficulty what my mother would say about my wishes to join the military. But, if I was drafted, I had a much greater chance to be on the front line. What would she say to that?

My thoughts were then interrupted by my father, who produced a quick cough, bringing me out of my reverie. I excused myself for the comfort of the piano, a way to disconnect with life and think clearly.

World War I. People dying. The prospect of dying never claimed entrance to my thoughts. I found later that when you were alive, and usually without your conscious awareness of it, you feel as if you are invincible, not prone to any ill happenings. And, until something happens, you are. At a strong seventeen, blessed in many ways with a whole life in front of me, I possessed this sort of cockiness.

I moved over the black and white keys, my fingers coaxing them to produce sound. The piano was my true haven. I was in some outer region of myself, some higher level of my being, yet immersed in the core of my very self. That's how it felt. I hoped to someday go to college on some piano scholarship, but it was just a pipe dream really. I exhaled as I finished my piece, a kind of serenity resting with me.

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A/N Well, there you have it, Chapter One. I do hope I captured the essence, if you will, of Edward. Anyway, if you read please review, whether it be criticism, acclaim, disdain, whatever, I can take it and would like it mucho much (in the southern U.S. we like to mix our languages. ) You all can expect an update later this week, probably Monday or Tuesday. I'm going hiking in the mountains this weekend, so I can write while in the car! Oh and yeah, expect better chapters, the real drama comes when, well you know when! And it will come up in the next few chapters.


	2. Coughs, Bimbos, and Doctors

Disclaimer: Quite obviously I do not own Twilight. But if I did, **I WOULD FINISH MIDNIGHT SUN**!

A/N: Hey, guys I'm back. Here's Chapter Two, where the drama begins! Sorry for the blah of Chapter One, but hey, you got to start somewhere. So, I'm keeping good to my promise, shorter Author's Note, so enjoy!

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After relaxing myself at the piano, I got dressed up for the ball tonight; a tuxedo, fancy shoes. Not my usual attire. I then decided to try to add a smile to the mix. Might as well try to have fun.

As I did earlier this morning, I walked downstairs to see my mother and father waltzing gracefully. My mother was sporting a stunning dark blue gown, adorned on ears and neck with sparkling diamonds. My father, like myself, was clad in a black tuxedo. I felt like joining in somewhat. I made my way to the piano once more and began playing "The Blue Danube" by Johann Strauss, Sr.

When the notes begin to play, they turned to the source. Obviously they did not see me come down. Too preoccupied with each other most likely.

The notes continued to play, and once more I felt myself getting lost in the beauty of it, once more reaching something greater than myself.

About half an hour later, my mother and father stopped dancing and turned to me, smiles still gracing their faces.

"Thank you Edward, that was lovely," my mother said. She came up to me and tried to tame my messy hair, a look of determination on her face. No such luck. In fact, it seemed to be in an even greater state of disarray when she finished. My did a sort of half chuckle/half cough thing, which at the time I took to mean that he was trying to mask his laugh.

"Ready to go, Edward?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied.

We counted ourselves as one of the lucky families to own a car, a Ford Model T. We soon were driving down the streets of Chicago, bound for the Golden Dome.

The Golden Dome was a hell of a place. It was decorated to the nines inside. Outside, it reminded me very much of a beehive. It was a circular building made from bricks and wood, with three entrances, one about every 120 degrees. Atop this was a structure resembling a honeycomb of sorts. It was huge and sat perched upon the building like some bulbous tumor or other uncontrolled growth.

The Charity Ball was an annual event, supporting various different charities and good causes each year. My father was a huge benefactor, so we attended every year, since I was about five. Other members from his law firm also were in attendance. This year's proceeds would benefit the local hospital. What stuck up, rich girl my parents would encourage me to dance with tonight remained unforetold.

We entered through the glass doors, my parents very excited. I tried to put a smile on.

I walked over to a chair in the corner.

It wasn't long before a bimbo made her way over to me.

She was tall and extremely skinny. She was pretty, I suppose you could say, but honestly nothing stood out. She made her way towards me with the strut that I'm sure was supposed to be seductive, but well, it appeared more like she was constipated. Lovely. Plastered all over her face was a look of sheer conceitedness. People are not hard to read. In her eyes was a kind of desire. For me. I repeat: Lovely.

I put on my best fake smile, and she obviously took it as encouragement, which believe me, she did not need. She finished her saunter over to me and her cocky look mixed with one anticipating something.

My father looked over at me and seemed to say, _Eeww, I'm sorry_. Then a small snicker came out morphed with a cough. I gave him a look of pure petulance. We were quite good at these silent conversations. He returned to talking with my mother, but then another cough made its way out of his mouth. He bent over for a second and my mother got a concerned look. He got up from his hunch and waved her worries away with a smile.

The girl batted her eyelashes at me and so, as not to be rude, I asked her to dance. She seized the opportunity.

We waltzed a little and I could tell that she was trying to impress me with her skills. She tried to take the lead. I tried to follow along, but frankly, it wasn't working.

Every once in a while she would step on my feet and then giggle and bat those longer than natural eyelashes some more. Finally she started to relax, her form getting better and no longer leading as forcefully.

I tried to take this opportunity to resume the man's lead, but at that she quickly took this as a sign of interest and again began incessantly batting those eyelashes at me for the third time this night and trying once more to take the lead.

I tried to be a gentleman, but when she began to rest her head upon my shoulder and put her full weight on me, I had reached my limit.

I was practically holding her in my arms. Every once in a while she would put her feet down right in front of where mine where supposed to go, almost like she was purposely trying to trip me. I apologized and then excused myself in favor for the bathroom. The song was almost over anyway.

For sake of keeping up the act, I actually went into the restroom. Washing his hands was a tall, muscular but lean man, who couldn't be older than 25. I usually don't notice beauty in men, but this man was the rare exception.

He turned around. He had golden locks, perfectly styled. His eyes were warm, but very odd. They were a rich ocher color, very near golden. They drew me in, like metal to a magnet.

His face was perfectly symmetrical and not a single blemish to mar its perfection. His chin and nose were those of a model's, perfectly straight. His chin was a neat cleft. Even fully clothed, I could tell that this man was built. He was a perfect image of Narcissus, a living god, and I'm not even sure that did him justice.

The man peered at me with a rather curious expression; he was examining me, gauging my thoughts, my reaction to his bizarre superhuman presence. I suddenly felt transparent, like I was made of cellophane. Although I met his stare as best as I could, I eventually began to have some strange feeling resonating in the back of my mind. I walked out of the bathroom.

I spotted the girl again; I didn't even know her name, and I ran for cover, for lack of a better phrase. I joined my father and my mother, who were engaged in conversation. I tried to join in. My father was talking to some of his fellow lawyers about one of their cases.

At that moment the man from the restroom strolled over to my dad, hands in pockets.

"Edward, son, I would like to introduce you to Dr. Carlisle Cullen. Dr. Cullen, his is my son Edward. Dr. Cullen is the leading physician at Northwestern Memorial Hospital, where, as you know is the receiver of this ball's proceeds," my father said.

I took Dr. Cullen's hand in mine and gave it a firm shake. His hand was surprisingly cold, probably from just finishing washing his hands. Dr. Cullen smiled a warm smile at me. His eyes spoke compassion.

We then made small talk; he asked me about school, what I wanted to do in the future.

I answered him earnestly; told him about my life's ambition to be a musician, told him about my current situation at my high school.

I, in return, asked him about his life, how long he had been a doctor, where he was from and sorts.

At these questions he had the slightest hesitation answering. I don't think anyone else noticed but I always had a way of picking up minute details. Or maybe my observation could just be attributed to the fact that I already was hypersensitive to this man.

Dr. Cullen was originally from London, but he had studied in the United States, which accounted for his lack of an accent. He had been a doctor for nearly 5 years now, and had attended Dartmouth. At this I immediately became interested. Dartmouth had a rigorous academic program, but more importantly, a renowned music school.

Conversation with the doctor flowed naturally, and I found myself taking an almost immediate liking to him. He had almost no family, and the family he did have was back in London.

Hearing this, my mother said, "Well, then you certainly must join us for dinner!"

My father added, "Yes, and Elizabeth is a simply marvelous cook."

"Well, I am usually at the hospital until ten o'clock every night," Dr. Cullen explained. "Especially with the flu virus going around, there are seemingly infinite patients to care for. But thank you so much for the offer Elizabeth, maybe some other time. Speaking of which, I actually must get back to the hospital in about half an hour, so if you will excuse me. Edward, it was very nice to meet you."

He gazed once more at me, searching for something. Perhaps I had something on my face.

And with that he walked away after shaking everyone's hands once again and thanking my father's firm for their contributions.

My mother and father were disappointed, I could tell, but said nothing. My mother hated it when she was denied a dinner guest, but she certainly understood the situation. In fact, she had bounced back and now seemed as if she was planning another way to entertain the good doctor.

A couple of dances with other various girls, their eyes glazed over with lust, we prepared to depart from the Golden Dome.

My father was giddy. Apparently they had raised nearly twice as much money as last year.

He grabbed my mother's hands and we walked out of the Golden Dome. It would have been a lie to say I was sad to go.

On the way to the car, another cough erupted from him and seemed to shake his body in palpitations.

"Dear, are you alright?" my mother asked with sincerity and loved deeply sown into her words.

I rushed over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Dad, Dr. Cullen mentioned the flu, it might not be a bad idea to go to the hospital to see him. I mean, just to be safe."

He was quick to try to allay our fears. "Nonsense. I have hardly been sick ever. It's just a small cold."

My mother though, was not swayed. For the next few minutes in our ride home in the Model T, she tried to convince him to go see the doctor.

"Elizabeth," he said. "Dr. Cullen has much sicker patients to worry about; he doesn't need me as well. Not to mention, we could all catch something at the hospital. Then where would we be?"

"So you admit that you are sick?" she countered.

"I didn't say th-," he was cut off by my mother.

"You said much _sicker_ patients to worry about. Implying more so than you."

My mother had just about won. My father gave her a look. "Not tonight, Elizabeth, it's far too late."

"Fine, but if you are coughing or have _any_ other symptoms of any malady in the morning, I will take you to the airport whether you like it or not," She said.

"And Edward will help me drag you there if need be," she added, satisfied with a small smirk playing across her face.

"Sometimes, I think you should be the lawyer," my father said shaking his head at his wife.

My mother sometimes greatly overreacted to things, but that is what mothers are supposed to do. Once I had had a paper cut on my index finger, which hurt quite a bit, but it really wasn't anything. She took my hand, and after rubbing it thoroughly with alcohol, bandaged the whole hand and told me not to mess with paper for the rest of the day.

Later with a smile she added, "It's probably nothing, honey, but I want to make sure."

That was how our conversation went in the car, one of our last.

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Thanks for reading! You are the best! And if you or another author has a story that you would like me to comment on/read tell me! Please review if you think I should continue. If that be the case, expect the next chapter on probably Friday, January 9th, probably Staurday night at the latest.

;) Clairabella Cullen


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